


long haul flight

by Elsajeni, mintpearlvoice



Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Wings, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, Kidnapping, Medical Torture, Multi, Rescue Missions, Season/Series 02, Sex Magic, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture, Wing Grooming, questionable use of aztec mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 08:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: "Blood rejuvenates the undead. The blood of a human can only do so much. You, on the other hand... you're going to make sure we rule all over the temple for a very long time."Her strength surprised him; she slammed his head onto the table, then jammed the needle crookedly into his vein.Fuck fuck fuck--The undead don't heal. After Pentagon Jr breaks Mil Muertes' arm, he needs shifter blood to knit the bones and regrow the flesh. Luckily, Catrina knows just where to find a powerful shifter -- but she may have underestimated the lengths Ivelisse and Son of Havoc will go to to get him back.





	1. Chapter 1

Angelico swam back to the surface of consciousness.

"Tell me, little bird. Do you know why you're here?"

Bird. _That's not good. But it could just be a coincidence._ He could charm almost any woman, and he was pretty sure she liked men. _Play it cool, find out who she's working for, and get home for Friday night football._ "Let me guess. I'm here because that zombie of yours can't get it up."

She slapped him across the face, and he hissed a sharp breath through his teeth at the impact.

"My monster could shatter you with one blow if he so desired. But this isn't about me, this is about him. Have you ever wondered why the other shapeshifters in this city fight masked..."

He played dumb. "Other shapeshifters?"

"It's so they can have an avenue of escape. But you... It's like you were begging for someone to find you." She traced a cold finger down his cheek. There was something strange, inhuman about her touch, and he wanted to wash his face. He reached up to push her away-- or tried to. Shit. He was handcuffed to the bed. 

"Flying on camera in a way no human could survive, anytime you had to protect those little friends of yours. So easily manipulated, so weak. But still so much stronger than a human. That's the trouble with the undead. They may not feel pain, but they heal much too slowly. You, on the other hand... I know you're stronger than an ordinary human. Your veins are rushing with warrior blood. Thank you for allowing me to tap that profoundly useful strength."

He pulled at the restraints, fear battling with fury. "What the hell are you going to do to me, you twisted bitch?"

"I prefer to think about it as... what are you going to do for me? Mil Muertes, come in and say hello to our guest."

Mil Muertes stared blankly towards him, glowing blue eyes not even blinking.

"Take off your shirt."

_Just what every man wants, a threesome with a beautiful woman and a musclebound hunk…_

Then he saw his arm.

Oh, god. He'd never seen such a grotesque injury. He wanted to try to fight his way free, but his muscles felt paralyzed. The question was no longer how somebody could survive with an injury like that, because Mil Muertes had clearly been dead for a long time.

The smell hit him first. It smelled like being stuffed into a garbage truck, like a porta potty after two weeks of a music festival, like every litter box in the entire world. He retched, but nothing came out. At least throwing up would be something else to smell. Gray flesh hung in tatters from the cracked bone. Pus oozed from the seeping wounds crusted in dried blood, and he could see the movement of maggots in what remains.

_This isn't real,_ he told himself. _I hit my head or they gave me too much knockout drugs and I'm going to wake up in the locker room. I've always been good at waking myself up from nightmares. One, two, three... Wake the fuck up!_

He opened his eyes. The muscle-bound undead man and the ruthless woman were still there. She smiled at him.

"Blood rejuvenates the undead. The blood of a human can only do so much. You, on the other hand... you're going to make sure we rule all over the temple for a very long time."

Her strength surprised him; she slammed his head onto the table, then jammed the needle crookedly into his vein. 

_Fuck fuck fuck--_

Ivie would shit talk her until she got so angry that she made a mistake and allowed her to escape. Havoc would have a brilliant back up plan and wouldn't let them see even the tiniest bit of fear. But what was he good at? Giving interviews and working the crowd. He hadn't even taken the other shifters seriously when they warned him about the dangers in the area. Now he was fucking helpless, and he had no other options left but to concentrate on just surviving the night.

The shifter was dizzy from the blow to his head; she called in her champion. Obediently, he shrugged off his jacket and sat down. 

Mil Muertes tilted his head to the side. She uncoiled another length of tubing from the same machine and slid it into his neck. The blood that flowed from it was viscous and so dark as to almost be purple. He thought he could see things, tiny things, moving inside it.

Catrina had heard human music from every era. She remembered lutes and recorders, harpsichords, marimbas. The music of civilizations that had long since fallen. But nothing could compare to the agonized cries of the bird shifter when Mil Muertes' poisoned blood first coursed through his veins. He pulled at the restraints, trying frantically to shift away from the needle. She stroked his pretty face; he was too deep in his suffering to even flinch. "Shh, pretty bird... It will all be over soon. I don't expect your body to hold out more than a week at the most."

* * *

Angelico dreamed another man's memories. 

"Pascual," his mother whispered, touching his face. "My son... I'm sorry. I'll see you soon."

"Mama, no--"

But the knife was poised at his throat. She was going to kill him to spare him the pain of living. That's what she'd said. Mama didn't have her pills down here, and without them...

She'd gotten him confused with his father and brothers, then told him the earthquake was his fault. He wanted to live! With a yell of terror and determination, the eight year old boy wrested the knife from his mother and stabbed her through the dehydrated skin at her throat.

That had been another two days ago. He'd tried to eat her flesh and drink her blood, but the taste made him sick. The heat mounted in his underground shelter. Was this already hell?

No more food, no more water, and the flashlight's batteries were flickering low. Mama had warned him there were bad things in the dark.

_No no please I'll be good-- Mama I'm sorry--_

He could barely see his own hands now.

An aftershock shot through the ground, and the ceiling shook. The ground crushed around him like a fist. He was confined in one cramped position, unable to lift his head or even turn onto his side.

Like a coffin.

_I'm going to die here. Everyone else is dead, and I'm going to join them._

_Mama, lo siento, you were right…_

The flashlight went out. Darkness and fear held dominion over all.

Angelico screamed himself awake, thrashing in the sweat-soaked blankets. He tried to sit up, but the movement made his heart pound and shot agony through his chest; his joints felt swollen and unsteady, another argument in favor of lying back down. His head throbbed.

_Those aren't my nightmares... those belong to Mil Muertes, or the boy he was before Catrina transformed him._ But he was still doomed, trapped, dying. Losing more water than he could keep down. And his arm...

He tried to move it, to brush his long bleached bangs out of his face. Pain lanced through his shoulder, hot as boiling water. He convulsed, fighting back screams. At last the pain abated, and he fell back onto the threadbare mattress, breathing heavily.

_They won't find me alive._ The thought came to him unbidden-- Ivie and Havoc would be looking for him, he knew, would tear the city apart to find him, but there couldn't be much time left. He thought of them rushing in, battering down the door, only to face Catrina gloating over his body--

_No. No, I can't, I won't leave them like that. I can hold on-- god, please, just hurry--_

Then he felt something move beneath his skin. His cry of horror resounded through the underground facility. In a nearby crypt, ice-blue eyes flashed open. Mil Muertes smiled.

Catrina licked her lips as she watched her prisoner through the one-way mirror. No human had ever survived so long. He even looked like he was still sane.

Mil Muertes was starting to recover. Cuerno would be coming soon to recollect his merchandise; hopefully, he could be mollified.

_If I was human,_ Catrina thought, _if I had involuntarily bodily functions, my cunt would be so wet right now._ At first the plan had been to hand him over to Cuerno. But now... he was too powerful. She needed to keep him. Watching him suffer, though, was something she _wanted._

* * *

Cuerno had been a hunter before he even stepped foot into the Temple. He used to track supernaturals down for the wealthy and powerful.

You want to torture a siren in the basement of your vacation home until her beautiful voice breaks into hoarse, tearful screams? I'm your guy. Want to vivisect a baby alien? Payment up front and we're good.

Then he'd stumbled upon something even more fun and lucrative. Freelance livestreaming. He'd bought a big piece of property in the least developed parts of California, hooked up some cameras. He'd hunt and tranq shifters, then set them loose in the wasteland with a GoPro and a water bottle. Hunt them down on foot with only a knife and his wits.

Fans watching from the comfort of their homes could place bets on how the prey might fuck up, or what they'd offer in exchange for their freedom. They could even vote on how they wanted Cuerno to hinder or torture them. It was a fucking spectacular business model. He was pretty much the PewDiePie of serial killers.

Catrina had given him a proposition: dispose of the bird shifter when I no longer have need of him, and I'll give you whatever your heart desires to play with the Phoenix. Apparently, the only way she knew how to dispose of bodies was by turning them into the undead, and that only worked on people who didn't have friends and family scouring the city for them. 

First room on the left, Catrina had said. He pushed open the door. Well, fuck this noise.

Angelico heard footsteps, heavy footsteps. Mil Muertes and Catrina. Here to poison him. Play with him. Last night, Catrina had lain beside him for hours, whispering filth in his ear. She was beautiful if you didn't look into her eyes. But everything she'd said had been so sick, so twisted, he'd barely kept the little food she gave him down. And her soft voice had followed him into his nightmares. Heat burned him from the inside out, and he tried to kick the covers off, but sleep beckoned him. He could barely move.

"Please," he slurred as the door opened. "Not the machine... oh god, please, let me rest..."

Cuerno stared down at what would have been his latest hunt with undiluted contempt. He'd been looking forward to Angelico. He'd never hunted anything who could fly before, and he'd been excited. Spiked bear traps at the bottom of the valleys so that he'd hurt his feet if he glided down, poison dart traps and wasps up in the trees. It would have been a good long hunt. Hell, maybe he could even have gotten the shifter's human mates in on the action.

But the sweat-soaked man shivering in the bed wasn't going anywhere. There was a weird grayish tint to his skin, like a walking corpse. The only mark on him was a tiny puncture wound at the crook of his arm, like he'd donated blood or something. But black veins spread out from it, curling under his skin like smoke, and the wound itself was crusted with bug-infested green pus.

"Angelico. Hey, son of a bitch. Rise and shine, Big Bird." No response. He lunged back and kicked Angelico in the stomach. Nice hard solid impact. The shifter's body shook from the blow, but all he did was groan and curl in on himself, clutching his stomach. Marks on his wrists showed that he'd been handcuffed earlier, but now he looked too weak to need them. 

And his wings...

He'd seen them unfurled for the barest instant, guiding Angelico's flight during his death-defying leap. Maybe a seven, eight-foot wingspan. Burning with shimmers of white-gold light, so beautiful they hardly looked real. He'd looked forward to seeing those pristine teal-green feathers spattered with blood, wings themselves hanging broken and useless as he desperately made one last attempt to fly to safety. His followers would have loved to sponsor a feather or some shit like that.

But this guy, flying? No fucking way. When he glanced through the rat skull chained to his belt that allowed him to see into the astral (normally the headdress gave him those powers, but it was inconvenient to wear while driving) he saw that Angelico's wings were dusty and parasite-infested, and they reeked of oil.

"Catrina!" he bellowed. "What the hell is this?"

He expected to hear footsteps, the door opening. Instead she was just there, behind him.

"Do we have a problem?"

"Yeah. I can't hunt this. Look at it. Can't even walk."

"I said you would have him when I was finished with him. I never specified the condition."

She was fucking right, of course. Still, his budget would be taking a big hit. "I promised my fans a shifter."

"And you will get one. A Phoenix. I'll help you capture him, just as I promised. Just leave him alive for me. Whatever you do to him, my magic can heal... and then my Champion and I will have the fun we've been anticipating for a very long time. I'll transfer two million dollars to your offshore account to make up for the loss of this lovely bird. Will that be acceptable?"

"As long as you get me that Phoenix shifter... we have a deal."

She nodded, then turned from him to run one elegantly manicured finger down the side of Angelico's face. He moaned softly as he came to awareness. Then his blue eyes went wide. "No... no more, please. You fucking monster. I could take both of you in a fair fight and you know it. When I get out of here-- when Ivelisse and Son of Havoc--" she pressed down on his chest, sending him into an uncontrollable coughing fit.

"You think they'll come for you? Poor little bird, still holding out hope. You may have lost track of time with all those wonderful dreams of fear and torment you've been having. But you've been here for almost a month."

Mil Muertes stood in the doorway, an implacable statue of darkness. She beckoned him forward and began to undo the bandages around his arm.

"Now lie still, Angelico. This is a very important process."

He left before Angelico could start screaming. Sure, he was technically a serial killer, but at least he gave his prey a chance to escape... at least he was human. Some shit even he didn't fuck with.

* * *

Prince Puma had taken her backstage and underground, into the labyrinth of corridors and weird dead ends that made up the sketchy old warehouse. _Let me walk,_ she'd told him, _don't try to carry me, we'll go faster that way._ They'd found Havoc hog-tied in a cleaning supply closet, dried blood on his hands. But Puma had been no help looking for Angelico. He'd opened a door, looked inside, and then just bolted, forcing them to chase him down.

"You stupid animal," Ivelisse screamed, slapping Prince Puma. "Where is he? Where's Angelico?" She shoved the fallen baseball cap in his face. "Angelico. Am I clear enough for you, or would you rather I meow?"

He just kept signing, the same sign over and over again, eyes filled with stupid helpless tears.

"Ivie," Havoc croaked. He looked like shit, pale everywhere the mask didn't cover. "Give him a break. He's going through a lot right now."

"And we're not?" If she stopped to think for an instant, she'd realize how close death came to devouring her. So she couldn't think, couldn't stop.

"That sign he's making, over and over? It means dad." He turned to the younger man. "Was he-- did you see Konnan?"

He nodded, then dropped into a crouch, covering his face.

Part of her wanted to be like, _well, I never knew my parents, I never had a fucking mentor, and I turned out fine._

Except she did have people she loved. People she'd die for.

_It's fucking terrifying, how vulnerable love makes you. Open the door to your heart and anyone will be able to pick the lock._ So she just put her hands in her pockets and examined the studs on her leggings while Havoc called Bengala to pick the young shifter-King up.

They spent that whole night looking for Angelico. Opening every supply closet and locker in the temple, pounding on paneling, even opening up the Believers' wooden benches.

Nothing, not even a single feather. Fuck.

At last they slumped home, exhausted. As the weeks went by, they cast their net farther. They checked abandoned buildings. They called contacts-- Havoc's friends in the Mafia, Ivelisse's cop drinking buddies. Nothing. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the fucking planet. 

Between training sessions, they cased the neighborhood and went through security footage. But every trail went dead after the Disciples left the temple. They walked out the door carrying a duffel bag big enough to contain a person, not even looking over their shoulders. And then they just-- vanished. No static, no camera jump. Just there one millisecond and gone the next.

Ivelisse burned with helpless rage. She slammed her full weight into the punching bag during workouts and kicked it so hard it burst open. At night she pinned Havoc to the bed and wrapped her legs around him like she was trying to invent a new submission hold, shuddering with anguished need. Sank down on him as if they could merge into each other if she clung tightly enough. The way she looked at him when she thought he was asleep... it was the closest she'd get to ever admitting that she was afraid. She wore yesterday's eyeliner and last evening's nightmares to skip breakfast at dawn.

Son of Havoc tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about how Catrina could be slowly and methodically breaking Angelico the way she'd tried to break them. He tried not to think about that lanky, freckled, blush-pink body painted with wounds. He tried not to think about Angelico crying out for them, his voice fading as he slowly gave up hope...

He stripped his favorite motorcycle and rebuilt the engine. He picked up a bike from a wreck sale and restored it until the chrome shone and the engine purred. Every day, he worked out until he could barely move from the satisfying burn in his muscles.

They were going to get through this-- they were going to find him. Fuck, they had to.

One night, they came home from the gym. The house was dark. Weird. Power outage?

Then something shifted in the darkness. No. Someone.

Ivie had her switchblade flipped open in an instant. "Show yourself, fucker," she snarled, ready for battle.

"You don't want to hurt me." The voice filled his thoughts like lavender-scented steam; he felt drowsy. "I'm no threat to you or yours."

"We don't want to hurt you," he echoed, straightening. The voice's accent was so melodic, anything that beautiful, rich, warm voice said had to be true.

Ivelisse nodded, her eyes glazing over as the knife fell from her loose fingers. "You're no threat to me or mine."

"Good," Melissa Santos said, and flipped on the lights. She looked as unrecognizable outside the ring as any masked warrior. No makeup, no sexy figure-hugging dress. Just soft smudges of exhaustion underneath her deep brown eyes and a worn gray hoodie to cover her glossy hair. For the first time, Havoc wondered what shit Catrina had pulled to force their ring announcer into compliance with the regime of death.

Ivelisse blinked at her hand-- blinked at the knife. "Whoa. Hold up. How did you do that?"

"I'm a siren. There's power in my voice, just like the power in Angelico's wings. And I'm here because I think I can help you."

"What are you doing here?"

"How the fuck did you find our house?"

"I've been paying attention to King Cuerno's movements, and I think I know where Angelico is being held. We need to go, now, before it's too late. Ivelisse, Son of Havoc, come with me if you want him to live."

"Why were you paying attention to King Cuerno?"

"Fenix and I have... an arrangement," Melissa said smoothly. "He keeps the worst threats off my back, and I do the same for him."

"Is that all you do with each other's backs?" Ivelisse interrupted. She knew it was obnoxious, but she couldn't stop herself. There was a yearning for battle beneath her skin, and if she couldn't have an enemy, she'd have an argument.

And she'd seen the way Melissa's face had softened.

"He's saved my life, if you must know. Las sirenas... we may be clever, persuasive, but we're not warriors like the shifters or demons, or even vampires... Since coming on Lucha Underground, I've had young, ambitious hunters prowling around my house, looking for an easy target. I saw what hunters like King Cuerno did to my mother when I was a little girl. I wasn't about to let them do the same to me. Fenix understood my situation. He showed me I wasn't the only one running. He patrols my neighborhood and makes sure I get home from shows safely. In return, I keep an eye on his most persistent enemies. You'd be surprised at what I can do with a good WiFi connection. And by the way, both of you should turn off the location tracking on your smartphones." They both scrambled to do so.

"So no, Ivelisse, I'm not fucking Fenix. This is what it looks like when people need each other to survive."

She nodded-- cowed, but not convinced.

Melissa drove like a lifelong LA resident. That is, absolutely batshit fucking crazy. The city got steadily dirtier and darker around them; broken windows, flickering streetlights, garbage that would never be picked up. They were the only car on the road, and people eyed them suspiciously from run-down doorways. It was nearly dark when they screeched to a halt in the parking lot of an old warehouse.

"This isn't her style," Havoc complained. "No skulls, no red velvet-- what's next, henchmen who wear ordinary clothes?"

Ivelisse smirked. Melissa just tapped a button, and the back doors slid open.

"The access code for visitors is 33284."

Ivie glanced up from changing the password on her phone. "Cute. Typical Catrina. Keyboard says 'death'."

"Once she knows you're there, you're going to have to move fast before she comes back. She uses run of the mill undead as guardians. They're not as solid or in as good condition as the Disciples, but if she's feeding them with shifter blood they may have grown stronger. Oh -- and take this." She leaned out the window, holding out what looked like a business card.

Ivelisse glanced at it over Havoc's shoulder. Just an address, not printed, scribbled in blue pen. "What is it?"

"If I'm right, he'll be in bad shape. You'll need more than mortal medicine." She nodded toward the card. "Take him there."

"How can we thank you?"

"For starters, don't get fucking caught."

The whole place smelled faintly of rot, like being up close and personal with the Disciples. Ivelisse grimaced, glancing around. From the outside, she'd expected just an open warehouse; instead it was like the back half of the temple, a maze of hallways and doors. "Great. If you were a psycho undead bitch, where would you keep a prisoner?"

Havoc shook his head, shrugged. Nothing to do but start trying doors.


	2. Chapter 2

The smell kept getting worse. She stuck close to Havoc, both of them on high alert -- it had to be the undead guards Melissa had mentioned. They came to another intersection, rounded a corner, and there they were.

They were rotting corpses, less human than the Disciples, most still wearing the clothes they must have died in. One clacked its jaw and lunged at Ivelisse, and on sheer instinct she launched a spinning kick at it, connected with the side of its head.

Her shoe cleaved its head clean from its shoulders, like she'd punted a soccer ball. _Fucking gross,_ she thought, but the zombie dropped and didn't move again. "Their heads," she snapped at Havoc. "Take their heads off."

Quickly, the two of them took control of the situation -- Havoc grabbing two at a time and snapping their spines over his knee, Ivelisse sticking to the MMA strikes she knew and loved best. In a few minutes it was all over, both of them breathing hard, sweating, surrounded by still-twitching corpses.

"We have to be close," Ivelisse said, and tried the closest door on her left. Nothing -- just a closet, empty except for a few candles on one shelf.

The next door, on the right, was locked. The first locked door they'd come across. They traded a glance.

"If you're a psycho undead bitch," Ivelisse said slowly, "what do you keep locked up?"

"Could just be her private office or something." Son of Havoc rattled the doorknob, then took two steps back, gave it a hard kick. The door exploded inward.

Ivelisse started in, and froze in the doorway. "Oh fuck," she managed. The smell of rot was thick in here, the only furniture two beds and some kind of machine against the wall between them, and the still, pale figure in one of the beds-- "Oh fuck, oh--"

Havoc shoved past her, crossed the room in two long strides and bent over Angelico's bed. "He's breathing," he said, his voice tight. "Shit, she's got him handcuffed down--"

"I can get those off him." She forced herself forward, trying not to look at Angelico's arm, the eerie black veins spreading out from the filth-encrusted wound at the crook of his elbow. Trying harder not to think about it.

They were real cuffs, not those cheap fetish-shop ones, but she could handle that. She dug out a bobby pin from a pocket and leaned in, breathing through her mouth -- this close, it was obvious where the stink of rot was coming from -- and set to work.

The second her hand touched his wrist, Angelico seemed to jolt awake, all at once. He cried out, hoarse and wordless, and tried to jerk his arm back away from her, thrashing against the cuffs pinning him to the bed. "Baby, _hold still_ ," she said urgently; up at the head of the bed, Havoc leaned over to lay a hand on his bare chest, murmuring, "It's us, it's okay, just hold on one more minute."

Angelico flinched away from him, letting out a low, terrified moan. Ivelisse felt bile rise in her throat, suddenly desperate to find Catrina and make her pay.

_Focus. Prioritize. You can kill Catrina later._ She grabbed his wrist, pulled it back enough to get slack in the handcuff chain -- "Sorry, baby" -- and a second later had the lock popped open.

The other wrist was easier, though she had to climb onto the bed with him to reach it -- either he'd exhausted himself fighting her on the first one, or he was coming around enough to recognize them. "Come on," she grunted, pulling him upright enough to sling the uninjured arm over her shoulders, then glancing up at Havoc. "How are we gonna get him out of here?"

They settled, after a few tries, on supporting him between them, one arm across each of their shoulders. It worked, sort of -- Angelico wasn't really lucid, barely conscious enough to keep his feet under him, and Ivelisse didn't want to think about how much it must hurt him to lean on his injured arm, but at least they were moving fast.

It meant neither of them had to let go of him, too.

Outside, they stopped for a minute, caught their breath. Havoc dug in his pockets and came up with the card Melissa had handed him earlier, comparing the address to the street sign at the corner. "It's not that far," he announced. "We could walk it, if..."

Ivelisse shook her head. As soon as they'd stopped, Angelico had dropped to the sidewalk, his head tipped back against the wall and his chest heaving with exertion. Under the streetlights, the sheen of sweat stood out on his face, the grayish cast to his skin even more obvious. "Look at him. We're not walking anywhere."

"Yeah." Havoc glanced up and down the street, pointed to a car in a nearly-empty lot. "There's our ride."

He jogged over, opened the door and disappeared under the dashboard, and Ivelisse hauled Angelico back to his feet, half-dragged, half-carried him to the car and wrestled him into the backseat. She climbed in after him as the engine coughed to life and Havoc hauled himself up and into the driver's seat.

"You think we can trust this guy?" Ivelisse asked, at the last stoplight before they hit the address on the card. She could see the sign on the next block, _PSYCHIC_ in block letters and the neon outline of a hand.

"I think we can trust Melissa." Son of Havoc glanced back at her, then down at Angelico, slumped pale and shivering across her lap. "And I don't think we have a choice."

* * *

The witch-priest -- he'd turned out to be more than a street-corner palm reader; he'd taken one glance at Angelico, said "You've tangled with the undead -- the Phoenix shifter sent you?" and ushered them into a back room crowded with candles and jars of strange dried herbs -- dipped into another vial of oil, spread a streak of it across Angelico's forehead, another from the hollow of his throat down his sternum. "The last step," he said over his shoulder, to Ivelisse and Son of Havoc; then he laid both hands on Angelico's chest, fingers spread, and began to sing, his voice deep and echoing, the words no language either of them recognized.

A thin coil of smoke rose from Angelico's wounded arm, mingling with the smoke of the candles, and a sickly-sweet smell overpowered the incense burning at the head of the table. Angelico coughed weakly, turned his head away from the smoke, and impulsively Havoc took a step forward, reaching for him.

"Don't touch him," the priest interrupted his chanting, without looking around. Ivelisse caught Havoc's wrist and pulled him back, beside her; her nails dug in a little harder than necessary, and when he glanced back at her, her face was tight with worry, her lips thin and pale.

The song -- the spell? Whatever it was -- seemed to go on for ages. Angelico tossed on the table, panting, his eyes open but glazed and unfocused. At last the chant reached a crescendo, and the priest moved suddenly, seized the injured arm in both hands and shouted something.

Angelico screamed and arched off the table. For an instant his wings spread out beneath him, visible and solid, a wreck of shed and broken feathers; the smoke, too, seemed to take on a solid form, and Havoc could have sworn he heard laughter, low and mocking. Then the lights flickered, the smoke began to drift freely again, and Angelico fell back limply onto the table, the afterimage of his wings fading into the smoky air.

For a long moment he didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. Ivelisse's grip on Havoc's wrist went white-knuckled. Then at last he stirred and coughed. They charged towards him, nearly knocking over the priest as he dodged out of the way.

Son of Havoc reached him first, caught him by the shoulder. Angelico startled at his touch, his eyes flying open, wide and panicky. "Baby," Havoc said, heard his own voice shake. "Hey-- hey, beautiful, it's okay, you're okay--"

"Look at me." Ivelisse slipped in beside him, cupped one hand around Angelico's jaw, turning his face to put the two of them in his field of vision. "Look at me," she repeated, insistently.

His gaze flicked over them, away, then slowly back. Havoc could almost feel the moment he focused on them, realized what he was seeing -- the tense energy drained from him, shoulder muscles going slack under Havoc's hand, and he let out a shuddering breath that might almost have been a sob. "Ivie," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Havoc-- where--"

"Somewhere safe," Ivelisse assured him, shifting her hand to brush his hair out of his face; Havoc nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "We got you, you're safe."

* * *

The hot water stung a little, where he was scraped and bruised, but Angelico could feel it loosening his muscles already. He sagged against the wall, eyes closed, and let it run over his shoulders, imagining it washing away not just the dirt and stink of his captivity but the whole awful memory, the fear, the pain.

He felt the slight change in pressure of the shower door opening. He opened his eyes, surprised to see Havoc stripped naked, too, and stepping in to join him. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Right, the wall's just _super comfortable_." Ivelisse followed him in, shut the door behind her. "Come here. Lean on me."

Angelico cracked a tired smile, made a show of looking her up and down. "Hey, if you say so." Mouth writing checks his body couldn't cash, as exhausted as he was. Still, the last time they'd all piled into this shower together... he closed his eyes again for a second, shivered at the memory-- on his knees under the spray, his face buried between Ivie's thighs, Havoc bracing his shoulders with one hand and jerking him off with the other. _I am one lucky fucker._

She pulled him forward a half-step, out of the stream of water, and he felt Havoc's hands land on his shoulders, soaping his back with slow, sure strokes. The rough surface of the exfoliating bar, then Havoc's hands following the same path, kneading into tight muscles as he scrubbed the film of sweat and dirt away.

He found himself dozing off, or drifting into a sort of trance-- he was vaguely aware of being pulled back under the spray to rinse, of someone's hands working shampoo through his hair, and always of one or the other of them supporting him, an arm around his waist or hands bracing his shoulders.

"Hey." Ivelisse nudged him, bringing him out of his half-doze; he realized he was standing in the corner of the shower, the water turned off, still leaning on her shoulders. She tilted her head, seemed to be squinting at something over his shoulder. "Your wings look like shit."

He glanced back: they were flicking in and out of reality, not quite substantial. "Uh. Thanks?" During his time in captivity, he'd tried to keep them tucked away in the astral, no more than a liminal greenish flicker in the fade of his aura. If they weren't solid enough to touch, they weren't present enough for Catrina to methodically fracture. But he'd never gone so long without manifesting. Now that he wasn't actively dying, the strain was wearing on him once again: everything felt stiff and cramped, like a sore muscle that needed to be stretched.

He could _hear_ her roll her eyes. "So open them up. We got the rest of you cleaned up, let us help with them, too."

_"I have something really cool to show you."_

_"Yeah? Let's see it." Jack's voice, warm, that little I-dare-you edge to his smile. And then a split second later, "What the fuck-- what the FUCK? This whole fucking time?"_ Jack had lost his shit, unleashing every particle of mad hatred that lurked within him--

"There's not room in here," Angelico hedged.

"I know, Havoc's getting the bed ready." She looped an arm around his waist and tugged him toward the door, back toward the bedroom.

In the bedroom, the bed was covered in towels, Havoc laying out the last couple as they walked in. "Hey, good timing," he said with a smile. "Lay down."

"Sounds messy."

"Baby, we get beat up for a living, you think we haven't bled on a few mattresses? There's a mattress protector, and we've got spare sheets. Come on. Down."

Ivelisse ducked out of the room to the kitchen, came back with a mixing bowl full of warm water and a bottle of soap. She let her gaze drift over Angelico, taking in everything: his ribs showing, how much more his freckles stood out with his skin so pale, the lines of exhaustion visible in his face.

The instant he flopped down on the bed, some of the tension in his face eased, at least. Maybe he could smell how much the people he loved fucked on this mattress, or sense it.

She let a few drops of water hit his shoulder. "Temperature okay?"

"Yeah. Should dry before it gets cold."

"We could blow-dry them."

"I wouldn't suggest it. And don't put any of your hair products in, either. Whatever a 'touchable shine' is, I'm pretty sure I already have one."

She snorted. "Well, we can't all be as naturally pretty as you are. Now come on, wings out."

Angelico hesitated again. _"I don't need a freak for a partner. Get the fuck out of my house--"_ He'd done one better; he'd gotten the fuck out of the country, bolted for LA, drawn there by rumors about the temple.

_And look what you found there_ , he reminded himself, took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, let his wings snap out to their full span, solid and tangible. It was a relief to not have his body so curled in on itself, tense with the effort of hiding. 

"God, they're beautiful," Havoc said, his voice soft. " _You're_ beautiful."

Which was clearly a lie; even from the little Angelico could see craning his neck over his shoulder, they really did look like shit. He was shedding feathers in clumps, exposing patches of raw, bloody skin, and the remainder was oily, dusty, bedraggled with inhuman graveyard mites.

"Not exactly touchably shiny," Ivelisse said; Angelico snorted and buried his face back in the pillows, and she grinned. "That's okay, baby, we'll get them there." She swirled the washcloth in the soapy water, wrung it out and set to work, starting out toward the tip of one wing. She swept the warm washcloth over the long flight feathers, imagining she could pull out all the pain and suffering he'd been through, wipe it away with the dirt. His body hummed under her touch: eyes half-closed, mouth slack.

Across the bed, Havoc shook his head slowly, running his hand gently along the curve of Angelico's other wing. "Look at these gorgeous fucking feathers. Must've hurt to keep these all cramped up, huh? Ivie, take the wings, I'll take the muscles." He straddled Angelico's legs and settled down to work.

"You don't know the half of-- ohkayyy." Because Havoc had his hands stretched out right over the defined muscles on his freckled back, pressing into the worst of the knots, slowly smoothing them out. Ivie couldn't even count the times she'd planted herself on his lap to take advantage of those strong, capable hands, careful but firm. Even when they'd been broken up, she'd never been shy about dropping into his lap without preamble, leaning into him to demand _hey, give me a fucking shoulder massage, now_.

Good thing he was keeping Angelico distracted, because Catrina's scent, lingering on his feathers, fucking reeked. Terrible old-lady flowers with a note of antiseptic hospice bouquet, the smell of death dressed up as something beautiful. She squeezed more soap into her hands and continued to work, finding a loose feather and working it cautiously the rest of the way free.

Angelico flinched, made a faint noise in his throat, and she froze with the feather still in her hand. "Am I hurting you?"

"Stings a little," he said, with a tightness in his voice that suggested _stings a lot, actually_. "It's fine, just-- if you have to pluck one, do it quick. Like a bandaid."

"Got it." She smoothed the jade-green feathers, gently, then picked up the washcloth again.

_This is where you belong_ , she thought, chasing away the dust and the mites. _Here, with us._ He already smelled like them again, the lingering scent of grave dirt washed away by Havoc's hipster-ass moss and cedarwood exfoliating bar soap and her citrus mint drugstore shampoo. Now the last traces of Catrina's awful perfume were fading, too, and Angelico was limp and trusting under her hands in a way that made her feel warm and safe and good.

Finally she sat back on her heels, surveyed her work. Angelico's wings still looked battered-- no surprise there; so did the rest of him-- but the coating of dust and oil was gone, the feathers' natural brightness returned, and in the spots where he'd lost feathers, the skin beneath looked raw but at least clean, no swarming mites to be seen. She put the bowl of water to one side and ran her fingers through his still-damp hair, pushing it out of his face. "How're you feeling?"

It took a minute before he answered, and when he did, his voice was slow, drowsy. "Good." Another long pause, and then, "Knew you'd take care of me."

Ivelisse's chest tightened, and she stroked his hair again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Of course we will, gorgeous," Havoc answered for them both, one broad hand rubbing circles between Angelico's shoulderblades. "Come on, let's get you in bed-- Ivie, grab those towels--"

The layer of damp towels cleared off the bed and dumped in a corner, Ivelisse slid back onto the bed beside Angelico, worming her way under one outstretched wing to lie close against his body. On his other side she could see Havoc doing the same, slinging an arm across his waist and pulling him in tight. "Still a little damp," he said, running his fingers down one long feather. "You won't get too cold, will you? How do you usually dry these?"

"Fly somewhere up high, bask in the sun for a couple hours." He sounded half-asleep already.

Ivelisse laughed, reaching up to grab his head and tuck it down against her shoulder. "You're not flying until you can walk. Gravity is a bitch, babe. Just let us keep you warm."

* * *

The door exploded inward. Son of Havoc started in, and froze in the doorway -- something, some power, holding him there.

_Catrina._ She straightened up from where she was bent over the bed, looked over her shoulder at him. "You're just in time," she said with a wicked smile; lightning flickered, and for an instant her face was a skull, white and grinning. Then she turned away, her attention back on Angelico, leaning in close and running one long fingernail down his chest.

"No," he moaned, and Havoc jerked in the spell's grip, strained desperately to move. _No use, she's too powerful..._ He gritted his teeth and tried again -- he had to stop her, had to get to Angelico. "No, please--"

Havoc jolted awake. The pleading voice didn't stop, though, and for a second he was disoriented, couldn't figure out whether he was still dreaming. Then it dawned on him, and he rolled over in a hurry, shook Angelico by the shoulder. "Hey-- hey, wake up--"

"Please," Angelico gasped again; then he screamed, once, short and sharp and awful, and his eyes flew open. "No! Please-- what--"

"Baby?" That was Ivelisse's voice, thick with sleep, from the other side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"She was here," Angelico panted, trying to sit up. "Catrina-- she was--"

Havoc caught him by the shoulder, pulled him into his arms. "A dream," he said firmly.

Against his shoulder, Angelico shook his head. "I saw her," he said, but he sounded less certain. "I _smelled_ her."

"Not here." Ivelisse rolled to press up against Angelico's back, sandwiching him between them. "She can't get to you here. Havoc's right, it was just a dream. A nightmare. We got you."

"You weren't there. You weren't coming--"

"Then you _know_ it was a dream," Ivie cut him off; she sounded calm, but Havoc knew her well enough to hear the tension underneath, the tight control it took to keep her voice steady. He shifted one hand from Angelico's shoulder to hers as she went on, "We found you. We got you back. We wouldn't have left you there, baby, you know that."

"Just a dream," Havoc said again. "You're okay. You're safe here."

"Yeah." Already sleep was creeping back into Angelico's voice, his body relaxing into Havoc's arms. "Yeah, 'course I am. I'm with you."

There was a long silence. Havoc lay awake, trying not to think about Catrina somehow stealing into the house, watching them, toying with Angelico. Trying not to think _you were with me when she took you, too._

Eventually Ivelisse stirred, too, and sat up. "Is he asleep?"

Havoc shifted a little. Angelico, breathing slow and even against the side of his neck, didn't stir. "Yeah."

"Good." She leaned over Angelico, ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "God, the way he screamed. What did she _do_ to him?"

"I don't think I want to know." Havoc shivered, his own nightmare coming back to him. "That shit about us not coming for him, too-- that's all her. Whatever else she did, she got in his head."

"She'll pay for it," Ivelisse said, and then, all in a rush, "I want her dead. We can't go back to the temple, I'll kill her myself if I see her, I'll snap her fucking neck--"

"I know," Havoc interrupted her. "I know, babe, come here."

He got his free arm around her shoulders, pulled her in close. "I want to rip her fucking heart out and _eat_ it," she said, muffled, into his chest.

"Too bad Dario's gone, he'd pay you double for a stunt like that." He looked down at her -- at both of them, curled around each other in his arms. _The way they should be, the way they fit together._ "God, if we hadn't-- if we'd been a day later--"

His voice broke, and Ivelisse shifted in his arms, reached up to press a hand over his mouth, shutting him up. "Don't," she said. "Just... don't. We got him back, that's what matters."

He took a steadying breath, nodded, and she pulled her hand away and leaned in close against him again. "He'll be okay," she said, quiet but sure. " _We'll_ be okay."

* * *

"Damn, I'm thirsty."

"You didn't bring anything to drink? What kind of athlete are you?"

"Nah, I brought Gatorade-- I think it's in my locker..."

It was colder in the locker room than in the gym itself, but he didn't bother putting his shirt back on. With abs like these, why the hell would he? He just shrugged his jacket on and headed to the locker room.

As he was fumbling with his lock, the lights flickered. Laughter echoed, cold and cruel and beautiful.

_It's her-- she's here-- no, please--_ He whirled around, swearing he'd die fighting before he let her take him back.

Except the locker room was totally empty. Shit, maybe the stress was getting to him. _These fucking nightmares--_ he tried not to wake Ivie and Havoc every time, but he hadn't had a full night's sleep in what felt like ages, not once since they'd brought him home. With a sigh of relief, he turned to put the combination in his lock.

Catrina yanked his bad arm upwards in a submission hold, then turned him around and slammed him against the lockers. His legs gave out from the pain and he slid to the ground.

"Poor beautiful bird," she murmured, straddling him. "You really thought you could fly back to your nest."

"You're not here," Angelico said, trying to stay calm even as his heart sped up. "It's just a dream."

She chuckled. "Did you really think I would ever let you go? Even with the aid of magic, no other shifter has ever lasted as long as you have, or recovered so quickly. Your blood could strengthen my champion for years to come, even caged. And your mates would be so sweet to me if they knew how easily I could destroy you, body and soul." She leaned up and kissed him on the forehead, a mockery of comfort, and laid her palm on his bare chest.

It felt like her icy little hand was sucking the life out of him. She pulled the air out of his lungs, taking his strength with it. Her eyes glowed parrot-green as light surrounded her hand, then faded. A horrible wrenching feeling twisted through his guts, squeezing up to his heart. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of screaming, but every muscle in his body tensed as he rode out the pain. At last she pulled back. "Mmm. That felt amazing. You really are something special, Angelico."

It wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't hurt so much. Dreams _ended_. "What do you want with me?" he asked, hating how broken he sounded.

"Everything," she purred, and licked her lips.

A voice from the hallway: "Hey, man, what's taking you so long? I'm going to change the settings on this machine, you done?"

The lights flickered, and Catrina vanished.

Ivelisse raised an eyebrow as he came back into the gym. "You okay? You look... kind of pale. I mean, you're already a pasty-ass white boy, but paler than usual."

He forced himself to laugh. "Nah, I'm fine. Just tired. Think I might go home and get some sleep after this." He uncapped the Gatorade and took a few swigs, hoping the sugar would steady him.

"Good idea." Havoc thumped him on the back. _Okay, don't flinch_ , he told himself. "I know you don't want to hear it, but you're not back at full strength. You won't do us any good if you push it too hard."

"Yeah, totally," Angelico said, faking a smile. If they knew he was in danger, he knew there was nothing Havoc and Ivie wouldn't do to protect him. They'd probably put their foot down and get him away from the temple, maybe even take Catrina's threatened banishment if that was what it took. Lose their careers, the home they'd found... he couldn't let them risk it. Whatever Catrina wanted with him, he could endure it.

The rest of the workout was a waste of time, as his arm felt pretty much shot. He could barely even hold a handstand. Luckily, his partners were too busy sparring to notice.

* * *

They'd left the bikes and taken an Uber home, unwilling to split up even long enough for the drive across town, piled into a handsy tangle in the backseat like kids on their way home from prom. They fell into bed without thinking -- still laughing, hands and mouths all over each other, sweaty and bruised and exhausted and not even caring.

After, Angelico lay awake a while, breathing in their mingled scents, enjoying the moment's peace. He could feel more scrapes and bruises now that the adrenaline of the match and the thrill of the win were wearing off, knew that he'd be waking up sore and stiff, and he was pretty sure he'd regret not taking a shower -- he could feel sweat and cum drying sticky on his chest. His bad arm ached, too -- not badly, just a clean soreness, but enough to remind him he'd been fighting on an injury -- and his other arm was going to sleep, pinned down by the weight of Ivelisse's head on his bicep.

All the same, he felt the best he had in weeks. He was home, safe, lying entangled and warm between Ivie and Havoc, just where he should be. He'd made it through the match, too, proved that Catrina hadn't beaten him, that she couldn't take him out of the fight that easily.

And best of all, they were champions again. He dozed off at last with a smile on his face, and slept, for once, without nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

Angelico straightened up from his gym bag, and froze. He hadn't heard anyone else come in -- come to think of it, he couldn't remember coming into the locker room himself -- but in the mirror... there was Catrina, just behind him. Inches away. Her reflection smiled, reached out toward his shoulder--

He spun, backing up against the mirror.

Nothing. No one there. _More of her tricks._

"You don't scare me," he said to the empty room. It didn't sound very convincing, even to himself. "This isn't your temple anymore. You're not in control here."

There was a soft laugh from behind him, so close he could feel her breath on the back of his neck. Before his brain caught up enough to think _there can't be anyone there, I'm against the wall_ , he was turning, taking an instinctive step back out into the room.

Right into her hands.

She caught him by his bad arm again, her nails sinking into his flesh like talons, and yanked him backward to get her other arm around his throat. "My disciples failed me," she said into his ear, as he struggled against her grip. "They paid for it. But now I find myself short of servants."

Angelico's chest tightened with panic. The threat was clear; an image flashed in his mind, himself taking the place of one of the Disciples of Death, masked and anonymous and under her control -- she would use him against Ivelisse and Son of Havoc, he knew with a sick certainty. Maybe not even bother with a mask, so there could be no doubt it was him turning on them. "You're crazy if you think I'll serve you," he managed, and flung himself forward with all his strength, trying to break away. No use; her grip was like iron. "I'll die first."

"Yes," she said, almost sweetly, and shoved him to the ground, dropped to straddle his waist and laid both hands on his chest. He could feel her draining his strength, that uncanny green light in her eyes again, his limbs growing cold and heavy. Before he hadn't wanted to give her the satisfaction of screaming; now he was desperate to, to make enough noise that someone might come investigate, but he couldn't get enough breath. "You will. And then you'll belong to me."

There was a distant buzzing in his ears, rising, blocking out all other sound. His vision blurred, narrowed, until he couldn't see anything but Catrina's face. He made a last desperate effort to free himself, twisting sharply under her to throw her off of him -- _like kicking out of a pin, come on, you can still get out of this--_

He woke with a start, already half off the bed, couldn't catch himself in time and hit the floor with a thud. Another nightmare -- he hadn't had one in weeks, not since Cueto had turned back up and stripped Catrina of her stolen power. He'd thought he was free of them, that maybe it was just her constant presence in the temple that had left him feeling haunted. But apparently not.

_Doesn't matter. Just a dream._ The buzzing noise hadn't stopped; he struggled to focus on it, his head spinning, and realized after a moment it was his phone vibrating across the nightstand. Not his ringtone-- shit, he'd set five alarms, he must have slept through them all. _The match-- need to tell them I'll be late--_

He tried to get to his feet, staggered, and ended up sprawled back on the floor. _Had_ it been a dream? Pain lanced up his arm, and he could still feel the cold imprint of Catrina's hands on his chest, couldn't seem to draw a full breath. At least he could reach his phone if he stretched. As much as he hated to admit it, the match maybe wasn't happening.

His vision was swimming, even his own fingers doubling and tripling over each other. Clumsily, he tapped what he thought was the right number. It wasn't.

"Quien habla?" Dario Cueto, at once irritated and confidential.

"It's Angelico. I can't make the match today."

He sighed. "Why not?"

_I think I'm dying_ , he wanted to say, or _I need to go to the fucking hospital_. Instead the phone fell from his hands, and he was too weak to lift it again. After a few minutes of questions he barely heard and lacked the strength to answer, the line went dead.

* * *

"Ah, Havoc, Ivelisse. Such a shame about your unfortunate loss tonight--"

"Where is he?" Ivelisse cut him off, before he could really get into the swing of gloating. "What the hell did you do?"

"Me?" Dario spread his hands, all innocence. "Please. All I know is that Angelico called this afternoon and said he couldn't make the match. Really, I should have disqualified you, but--"

"Yeah, very generous, got it," Ivelisse interrupted again. She traded an uneasy glance with Havoc, knew they were both thinking the same thing-- _there's no way he would have missed this match, something's very wrong here_. "Why would he call you and not us?"

That got her a shrug. "I told you, that's all I know. If you're worried about it, get out of my office and go and check on him yourself." He leaned forward over the desk, pulled an exaggerated concerned face. "And I suggest you hurry. He didn't sound so good."

Angelico woke to anxious voices, and the sense of someone close by, watching him. "There's no way his temperature should be this low..." A hand on his forehead, rough and warm. He tried to lean into the touch, even though his head spun.

Ivelisse growled, frustrated. "How the hell does he have hypothermia in Los Angeles with the windows open?"

"How does Catrina pull any of her shit?"

Before, when they'd snatched him from Catrina's clutches, he'd been too exhausted and out of it to experience the full effect of what she'd done. Now he was more fully lucid, and suffering; he tried to sit up, but pain shot up his arm like lightning and he fell back to the floor, retching and shivering.

"We need to call an ambulance," said Havoc.

Ivelisse glared at him. "Fuck that, we're going back to that witch doctor, call an Uber." Seeing that Angelico was awake, she made an effort to lower her voice. "Need anything, baby?"

"Blankets," he managed, leaning into Havoc's touch again. "Can't stop fucking shaking." Every movement felt like a walk-in freezer slamming shut. His teammates were the only warm place in the world.

They managed to burrito him into the Uber, wrapped in all the blankets off the bed. "Save your strength, try to rest," Havoc kept telling him, but trying to get Angelico to quit running his mouth had never been possible.

"Hey, hey man, if I die--"

"Shut up," Ivelisse said, a little sharper than she meant to.

"It's important," he insisted. She curled her fingers in his bangs, nodded, and he went on, "You have to delete my internet history. Actually, fuck it, just throw my laptop out the window, it's mostly porn anyway." He cracked a fragile grin, which turned into anguish as another bout of dry heaves descended.

"At least you don't have anything else in there to throw up," she said, trying to be reassuring. 

"Yeah. At least there's that," he managed to agree before doubling over, clutching his arm. "Fuck, it hurts."

Havoc swallowed, rubbed his back. "Hey, just breathe, just try to keep breathing, you're going to be fine."

Ivelisse squeezed his good hand. "Listen. When you're better--"

He managed to smirk. "If I survive, you mean."

It was the same cocky, snarky look she'd seen at the beginning of their first match. Coming down the temple stairs to see him lounging on the turnbuckle, just smirking at her. Back then, she'd wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

Now she just wanted him to live.

"No, baby, when. We'll take some time away from the temple, maybe wrestle in Europe. Rent that one apartment in Spain you never shut up about having stayed in. You can even make us do yoga on the beach at sunrise."

"Sunrise, huh? I'll believe that when I see that. You've never gotten up before eleven... shit. I'm really freezing."

"You want my jacket?" Havoc offered, already sliding out of the expensive leather.

Angelico wrapped himself in it as tightly as he could and hunkered down between them, shivering and miserable. Ivie wrapped herself around him, and Havoc slung an arm over them both. He rested his head on Havoc's shoulder, exhaustion and strain showing on his unguarded face as his long eyelashes fluttered closed.

Ivelisse shared a look with Havoc. He looked as grim as she felt, his hand white-knuckled on Angelico's knee.

They couldn't lose him, not when they were finally a team. She buried her head in his chest as if her touch could vanquish the darkness.

Above them, a wildfire sunset made the sky bleed.

* * *

"The first time you two brought your boy in I thought we were just dealing with garden variety undead." He was digging through cabinets as he said it, coming out with both hands full of jars and bottles, a box of resinous incense tucked under one arm. "Now I have some serious questions. How did a bunch of LA gym rats manage to piss off Mictecacihuatl?"

Ivelisse and Havoc shared a blank look. The witch-priest elaborated, "Aztec deity. Goddess whose power comes from the bones of the dead."

"We've been in some Aztec shit, but I don't think we've fucked around with gods specifically," Havoc said doubtfully. "Just tribal relics."

The priest snorted. "Well, if you're fucking around with relics, that sounds like a good way to get into trouble with gods. She's still got active cults today -- Santa Muerte? Calls herself the Powerful Woman, or Lady of the Shadows?"

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

"You've seen her, or some version of her, even if you don't know it." He spilled a handful of incense into a brass burner, set a bowl of fresh herbs beside it. "Anywhere you see Death depicted as a woman, a beautiful skeleton. La Calavera Catrina."

"Shit," Havoc said, at the same instant Ivelisse said, "Fuck."

"So you do know her."

Ivelisse grimaced. "Yeah, I've drop-kicked her in the face a couple of times. Destroyed her champions. Just, you know, the usual."

The priest froze for a split second, halfway through lighting a candle. "Sorry. Repeat that. You kicked the Aztec goddess of death in the face?"

"It was a while ago, I might have slammed her head into the turnbuckle."

"... okay. That's... this is fine." He glanced over the array of spellworking supplies laid out on the counter, bit his lip, and stepped back out into the main shop. "Give me one minute, please--"

When he came back, he was followed by a younger woman, rolling her sleeves up and heading straight for the row of bottled oils on the counter. "My student," he said, with a gesture. "This is going to be more complicated than last time. I'll need your help too -- you, light that incense, and you, over here. Hold him still..."

Angelico drifted toward consciousness. Unfairly, the pain came back to him first: everything hurt, every heartbeat sending a burning throb down his arm. With a struggle he managed to open his eyes, and for just an instant, he felt panic rising in his chest, sure he was back in Catrina's clutches. There was the hospital-like bed, the manicured hands pinning his shoulders down -- but no, he'd already woken from that dream, hadn't he?

_Not Catrina's hands. Ivie's._ He fought to stay present, focusing on what he could sense in the room -- the soft warmth of clean sheets under him, swirls of red smoke undulating across the ceiling, the sharp, almost living scent of incense.

Voices, too -- Ivelisse and Havoc, both their voices low and tense, and someone else he didn't recognize. _Doesn't matter. If they're here, I'm safe._ He let his eyes drift half-closed again, listened to the unfamiliar voice, chanting something steady and rhythmic. He could feel someone tracing a sigil across his chest with one fingertip, then something sharper and colder tracing the same line, moving up toward his injured shoulder--

An icicle plunged through his heart. The room went dark. Skeletal faces jeered at him through thick, burning smoke. Barbed wire wrapped around his wings like embracing tentacles. Catrina, laughing.

Catrina, leaning down to stroke his face.

Someone else was using his body to scream. It couldn't be him -- he was so far away from the room held together by magic and safety. So far away from the concerned voices calling his name.

"--stop the fucking spell!"

Havoc felt like he would explode out of his own skin. _This can't be happening--_ He'd thought the spell was working, thought he could see Angelico breathing easier. But the instant the feathered wand had touched his shoulder, he'd convulsed on the table, his eyes rolling back in his head, and his hands suddenly felt like ice. Corruption spread like wildfire across his arm and now it looked worse than when they'd started, rotting, infested gore rounding the curve of his shoulder and spreading onto his chest.

"Hey, fuck-- hey, baby-- Angelico--" He breathed on Angelico's hand, trying to bring some warmth to it.

"We have to finish the spell," the priestess said urgently. "Stopping it--"

Ivelisse whirled on her. "You have to go fuck yourself."

Angelico moaned, and his eyes opened. Shit, in the space of a second he'd gone from looking like a human being again to worse off than when they'd first found him in Catrina's lair, pale and sweaty and trembling.

Havoc gritted his teeth and indulged himself in a split-second detailed imagining of ripping out Catrina's eyeballs before turning his focus to Angelico, forcing a smile. "Glad to have you back."

Ivelisse leaned in between them, grim-faced. "Tell us what happened. We need to fix this, now."

"I-- feel her," Angelico managed to stutter out. "Her hands, all over me. Never thought I could be this cold."

Catrina's hair brushing over his face like spiderwebs in a ruined castle. Catrina's voice in his ears: _they're not coming for you, foolish winged beast._ Her whispers swarmed him. She was sitting in the leather armchair in the corner, only now it was a throne of eyeballs, and crossing her legs demurely at the ankle. And smiling. That fucking smile. When he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for escape, she was there in the darkness laughing, and his wings were tied down, weighted with heavy chains. But he forced himself to open his eyes, to tear his gaze away from her ever-present specter and look at Ivelisse.

"All I see is her."

_We're losing him._ Son of Havoc fought the thought back, trying not to panic. He locked eyes with the apprentice priestess-- god, she looked young. "What do we do?"

"I don't know if this is-- it's not just a curse, we'd have broken it by now, and possession is complicated but it's not _this_ complicated, this is something--"

"What do we _do_?" Havoc demanded again, cutting off her nervous babbling. He glanced back at Angelico, pale and shivering on the table, Ivelisse bent over him with both hands on his shoulders. "There's got to be something. _Now_ , goddammit--"

"If he dies, we're killing you," Ivelisse put in, not even glancing up from Angelico's face.

He was _pretty_ sure she didn't mean it, but it did seem to motivate the priestess. Her shoulders heaved for a few panicked moments. Then she let all the air out of her lungs and took a deep breath. "You guys-- you guys need to have sex."

Total silence, just for a second. Then Ivelisse said, "I'm sorry, we _what_."

"He belongs to you, doesn't he?" She nodded toward Angelico, toward the array of oils and potions that seemed to be doing nothing. "If you're lucky, you'll get the attention of Tlazolteotl -- she's a goddess of purification, if anything can fix this, she can. And whether she shows up or not, you'll have marked your own claim on him, shown it's stronger than Catrina's. You may not be fighting on level ground, but you _can_ fight her."

"I like this plan," Angelico contributed, his voice thin and strained.

He'd barely finished saying it before another violent shiver wracked his body, and he curled in on himself, clutching at his arm. Havoc bent over him, caught hold of his hand -- god, it was so cold it almost burned. "You think it'll work?"

"Can't be any worse than this." He managed a shaky half-smile. "And if it doesn't, at least I go happy."

"There's a motel on the other side of the block," the priestess said, saving either of them from having to find an answer to that. "I'll keep an eye on him, you go and rent a room. And you--" she pointed at Ivelisse-- "talk to my boss, because you're going to embody a goddess, and that's above my pay grade."

* * *

Angelico held onto her like a lifeline, his grip tight on her hips, his face buried in her hair, breathing in her scent. But his hands were cold, his whole body shaking, and she could see dark shadows growing under his eyes. _It's not enough. Fuck, it's not working..._

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her head, to cut off the spiraling panic. She couldn't think of the name the priestess had said -- something unpronounceable, too many T's. Instead she tried to focus on the image, the figure of a woman, bare-breasted, nose pierced with a half-moon plug, etched in gold and green on the glass of the candles they'd lit. "Help me," she murmured, under her breath -- an invocation, a prayer. "Please -- don't let her take him from us, _please_ \--"

"Holy shit," she heard Havoc say. She opened her eyes to see the candles flaring up, all at once -- the flames growing, higher and brighter, until the room grew so bright she had to shield her eyes.

Then they went out, all at once, and her whole body jolted with power.

It felt like being punched in the solar plexus, at first. All the air went out of her lungs, and she curled forward, into Angelico's chest, trying to recover. Then a strange, tingling heat kindled in the core of her; it started in her cunt, grew and spread, warming every part of her, out at last to her toes, her fingertips. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, ecstatic sigh, and where her breath flowed over Angelico's body she could see the color return to his skin, just for a moment.

"Holy _shit_ ," Havoc said again. When she looked at him, his eyes were fixed on her face, a strange, reverent look in them. "Holy shit-- Ivie--"

"Get him ready for me," she ordered -- she felt sure of what to do, suddenly, something guiding her from within -- and slid off Angelico's lap to give Havoc access to him. She stretched out on the bed beside him, pressed her body close against his. She laid one hand flat on his chest, over his heart, and felt his whole body shudder, warmth flowing through her touch into him. "Baby," she breathed into his ear, and there was a strange double-echo in her voice, like two voices speaking through one throat. "My bird, my beautiful angel. Look at me. Stay with me."

On the other side of his body, Havoc slid down the bed, trailing one hand down along Angelico's ribs as he went. He cupped a hand around Angelico's balls, ran his thumb lightly across the delicate skin and was rewarded with a gasp, muscles tensing in Angelico's thighs under his other hand. He leaned in and nuzzled against Angelico's cock, mouthing gently at the base of it, feeling it swell and stiffen under his attention.

Ivelisse watched, ran her tongue over her lips. Beside her, Angelico tipped his head back, let out a faint _oh_ , a flush creeping up his chest and throat. She reached up, tangled one hand in his hair and pulled him around to face her. "Look at me," she said again, and kissed him, open-mouthed, her tongue lapping into his mouth as his lips warmed against hers.

Angelico came away gasping for breath, his whole body tingling and desperately sensitive as warmth and feeling returned to it. He couldn't take his eyes off Ivelisse, her face a bare inch from his. There was a strange glow in her eyes, and green-gold sparks seemed to dance along her skin, her whole body alive with shimmering light. Between his legs, Havoc dipped his head to nuzzle at his balls again, then licked a straight, broad line up the underside of his cock.

He could still feel Catrina, watching, hissing curses into his ear, and he didn't dare close his eyes. He tried to focus on the two of them, on what he knew was real -- Havoc's fingers digging bruises into the muscles of his thighs, his mouth warm and wet around his cock; Ivelisse's hands pressing him back into the mattress, pulling his hair, her breath warm against his throat as she kissed and nipped at his jawline. "You're mine," she whispered into his ear, almost a snarl, "you're _ours_."

"I'm yours," he gasped, fumbling to touch both of them at once, cupping one hand around the back of Havoc's head and reaching for Ivelisse's tits with the other, brushing a thumb back and forth over her nipple. "I'm yours, I know, I'm yours."

He heard a scream of rage from somewhere in the darkness, and flinched. For a moment the image of Catrina, watching from the corner of the room, flickered, and the tightness in his chest eased. Only for a moment-- then she was back, her grip tightening on him again.

"She doesn't like that, does she?" Ivelisse's smile was fierce, dangerous. "She shouldn't have put her hands on you, then. Shouldn't have fucked with what's mine." She licked down his throat, bit hard into his trapezius, and he arched and moaned, thrusting up into Havoc's mouth.

Havoc moaned, too, a muffled hum around his cock that sent an electric thrill up the whole length of his body. He pulled off, panting, and crawled up the bed, bringing himself face-to-face with both of them. "No one's taking you from us," he said, his voice low and hard, and leaned in for a kiss, tender and slow.

Without thinking, Angelico let his eyes close, only for an instant. Catrina was there again, leaning over him, her face twisted-- he flinched, forced himself to focus on Havoc, on what he'd said. _They're fighting you for me, bitch. I can fight too._ He bit down hard on Havoc's lip, turned the kiss hungry, bruising.

"Easy," Ivelisse murmured from his other side, her nails digging lightly into his shoulder. "Easy, baby, don't rush it."

"I need you," Angelico gasped in answer, still half into Havoc's mouth. "Please-- god, I need you, don't let go of me, don't--"

"We're right here, beautiful," Havoc soothed, one hand raking through Angelico's hair, pushing it out of his face. He ducked his head, found the pulse point at the side of Angelico's jaw and bit and sucked at it, raising a matching mark to the ones Ivelisse was leaving on his collarbone.

" _Please_ ," Angelico said again, and shifted his weight, pulled Havoc fully on top of him with a sudden surge of strength and reached down to wrap one long hand around both their dicks at once.

Havoc let out a breathless huff of a laugh, his eyes going wide. "That's what you want, baby?" He rocked his hips, slow and controlled, and Angelico made a raw, desperate noise and dropped his head back onto the pillow, breathing hard.

For a moment all three of them stayed there, intertwined. Havoc was slow, methodical, tongue and teeth and hands testing every inch of Angelico's torso, finding the spots that made him buck and grind against him. Ivelisse's hands roamed freely over both her boys' bodies, rolling Angelico's nipples between her fingers, sinking her nails into Havoc's back; eventually she pulled away, and Angelico caught a glimpse of one hand dipping between her own legs, her eyes still fixed on him and Havoc, tongue running hungrily over her lower lip.

Angelico trembled, overwhelmed by sensation and yet hungry for more. He tightened his grip around his and Havoc's cocks, thrust up into his fist, the friction sending shivers up the whole length of his spine. A hand cupped the side of his face, and he turned blindly into it, pressing his lips into the hollow of the palm, his eyes fluttering closed.

The hand he was kissing was bone, white and cold against his face. He flinched away from it, heard low, cruel laughter in the darkness.

"You think this can beat me, little bird? You think I care what they do with your _body_?" Catrina's voice was too close-- he could feel her breath in his ear, smell the grave-dirt stink of it. "I'll have all of you soon enough, my pretty bird, but it starts with your spirit. Your pet humans can't protect that." She trailed one long fingernail down his cheek. "If they even care about it."

"You tried that already," he said, with difficulty-- his face felt cold, almost numb, where she'd touched him, and it was hard to shape words. "Said they wouldn't come for me. You're wrong." He could hear their voices, thought they were calling his name, but they sounded far away, and he couldn't focus on them.

"Tch. What are you to them?" She leaned in even closer, flicked her tongue along his jaw; he tried helplessly to turn away, but her grip was too strong. "A pretty plaything. A tool. If you couldn't help them win, would they still bother with you?"

Before he could form an answer, someone yanked roughly at his hair. "Hey. Look at me." Ivelisse's voice, tense, that strange double-echo to it again, but the same familiar _do what I fucking say_ tone she used in the ring. "Not at her, me."

He wrenched his attention away from Catrina, tried to focus on Ivie. She was on her knees beside him, leaning back on her heels, and he could see her hand still busy between her legs, three fingers sliding easily in and out of her cunt. "When I want something," she went on, lower and steadier, "I don't give it up. I'm stronger than her. I want you more than she does." She added a fourth finger, and Angelico felt his breath hitch, felt Havoc's hips jerk against him as he watched, too. "You've never been hers. You never _will_ be hers--" She switched hands, ran one slick finger over his lower lip, and for one beautiful moment her scent was stronger than that of the grave. "Lick."

He obeyed, automatically at first, then eagerly. Ivelisse laughed. "You're good at that, aren't you?" She fucked herself like she had all the time in the world, fingers wandering to rub at her clit or trail up to her breasts. "Give me my hand back, now that you've gotten it all nice and wet for me. God, you look good doing that. Wanna see how you suck cock one of these days--"

Havoc's hands stilled momentarily as he caught his breath. "Umm. Seconded."

"Right now," Angelico said at once, grabbed Havoc by the hips and tried to pull him upward. "You want to see, I'll show you, god, _please--_ "

He could see Havoc's jaw tighten. He started to shift up the bed, then stopped and glanced at Ivelisse, as if looking for permission. "Don't keep him waiting, baby," she said, teasing and a little breathless; Havoc nodded, and as he moved into position, she leaned down to Angelico's level, whispered into his ear, "When you're finished with him, you're going to fuck me, how do you like that?"

He felt his breath hitch again, his cock jump with eager interest. "What happened to not keeping me waiting?" he teased back. Then Havoc swung a leg across to straddle his shoulders, tapped the head of his cock at Angelico's lips, and he turned his attention to that, swirling his tongue around the head, flicking the tip of it against the sensitive frenulum. _If I'm putting on a show, let's make it a good one._

Havoc's hand landed in his hair, rough fingers stroking his scalp. He could still feel Ivelisse's hand trailing over his chest, too, could hear her faint sounds of pleasure and knew she was still touching herself, watching them. He brought his own hand up to rest at the small of Havoc's back, holding him in close, raising his head to swallow him to the root and breathe in the warm, musky scent of him. Havoc let out a groan, his hand clenching tighter in Angelico's hair, and Angelico smiled around his dick, hollowed his cheeks around it and set to sucking in earnest.

Focused on Havoc, on finding the motions of tongue and teeth that made him gasp and his hips stutter forward, he lost track of Ivelisse for a minute. He was vaguely aware of her getting up off the bed, moving around the room; then suddenly her hand was around the base of his cock, smooth and sure as she worked him back to full hardness, and he felt a condom being unrolled down the length of his shaft and moaned around Havoc's cock in anticipation.

Ivelisse didn't waste a second. She swung her leg across to straddle him, tucked one hand down between their bodies to hold his cock steady and slid down onto it in one smooth motion.

Angelico bucked beneath her, head and shoulders coming up off the bed. She heard him choke, heard Havoc, half-laughing, say, "Take it easy, beautiful, breathe."

"My fault," she said, and ran a hand down Havoc's spine.

He craned his neck around to look at her and froze for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her. "Oh, fuck," he said; then Angelico rolled his tongue against the head of his cock, and he shuddered and repeated "Oh _fuck_ ," his attention pulled sharply back toward Angelico.

Ivelisse leaned forward, slipped an arm around him; he could feel her tits press into his back, her hand trailing up to tease at his nipples. "Make sure he's looking at you," she said into his ear, and he heard that strange echo again, two voices speaking at once.

Havoc nodded, and Ivelisse saw his hand go forward, land in Angelico's hair again. She couldn't see Angelico's face, but she could sense him alert and watching, knew his eyes were fixed on Havoc's face as he sucked. She ground down onto him, let out a sigh of pleasure, and started to ride him in earnest, steadying herself with one hand on his waist as she busied her other stroking Havoc's broad chest.

Havoc had to be close, she knew-- he started talking, babbling, really, a low, steady stream of _baby, fuck, that's so good, you're so beautiful, fuck..._ Muscles tightened and twitched in his back. Without slowing the motion of her hips, she leaned into him again, tightening her arm around his waist, licked up the side of his throat and said, "Who does he belong to, baby?"

"Us," Havoc panted -- she could see a golden-green shimmer in the sheen of sweat across his shoulders, some of the power that filled her flowing into him where they touched. "You belong to us, you're ours, you're-- fuck, you're _mine_ , baby, fuck, _Angelico--_ " He tightened his grip in Angelico's hair, pinning him down to the pillow, fucking his mouth more than letting him suck, the rhythm of his hips gaining speed with each thrust. At the last second he leaned back into Ivelisse, pulling his dick free of Angelico's mouth and hastily wrapping a hand around it; one rough stroke carried him over the edge, and he came with a shudder, spattering across Angelico's chest and throat.

The droplets of cum almost seemed to glow, gleaming white-gold in the dim room. Havoc blinked, shook his head, but the vision didn't fade. Angelico, breathing hard beneath him, seemed to notice it too; he swiped a fingertip down his own collarbone, brought it to his face and stared at the glittering fluid. "Now that's some fucking magic," he said, his voice a little hoarse, and licked his finger; Havoc tipped his head back onto Ivelisse's shoulder and groaned.

He stayed there for a long moment, getting his breath back. Eventually he shifted, off Angelico's chest, and turned to get an arm around Ivelisse, leaned in to kiss her deeply as she rolled her hips slowly back and forth on Angelico's cock.

Ivelisse moaned into his mouth. She rocked forward into his arms, back, and behind him he heard an answering moan and a heartfelt " _Fuck_ " from Angelico. He pulled back from the kiss, ducked his head to turn his attention to her tits, teeth playing carefully around one tight, hard nipple.

She made another soft noise, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Then she opened them again, reached up to catch Havoc by the beard and tipped his face up, forced him to meet her gaze. "Not about me right now," she said, breathlessly, and used her grip on his beard to drag him downward, pushing him back toward Angelico. Angelico rose up to meet Havoc's mouth with his; he kept one hand on Ivelisse's hip, wrapped the other around the back of Havoc's neck and pulled him the rest of the way down.

Ivie tossed her head, strands of hair sticking to her wet lips, and started to ride him harder again. She kept one hand spread on his chest, steadying herself-- he could still feel the electric tingle of magical power, a little spark burning at each of her fingertips, though it was nothing compared to the heat of her cunt, enveloping and engulfing him.

She bent down to him, licked a line up the side of his throat and pushed her way between him and Havoc, kissed each of them in turn. He could taste Havoc's cum and his own sweat on her tongue, mingling with the taste of her to make something potent and thrilling.

In the back of his mind, he could still feel Catrina's presence, her cold fingers sinking into his aura like chains, like barbed wire around his wings. But there was so much else to occupy his senses, so much that he knew was _real_ \-- Ivie's hair fell around his face like a curtain, shutting out everything but her and Havoc, and he could smell the clean citrus scent of her shampoo, feel both their bodies pressed close and warm against him. And of course, Ivelisse grinding down onto his cock, hard and fast, the heat of pleasure coiling in his gut and spreading through his whole body.

"Please," he panted -- god, he was close, he could hardly find the breath to speak. "Please -- Ivie--"

"I'll show you what she needs," Havoc murmured in his ear, and shifted beside him. Angelico craned his neck to see him slipping one hand between his and Ivelisse's bodies, his fingers working in tight circles, and above him, Ivie's gasps suddenly jumped an octave, her hips working faster against him.

"Talk to her," Havoc ordered.

Gasping for breath, Angelico managed, "Ivie -- fuck, you're beautiful. You feel -- I'm yours, god, I'm yours, I'm--" He could feel Havoc's hand moving faster between them, rubbing hard circles against Ivelisse's clit, until suddenly she cried out, curled forward into his arms, and he could feel her cunt shudder and contract around him as she came. He managed one final, choked "Yours -- oh _fuck--_ " and then he was following her over the edge, his whole body tensing and shaking as the wave of pleasure broke over him.

It felt like he was floating -- or like the first time he'd tested his wings, spiraling up a thermal until the height made him dizzy, diving so steeply he almost lost control, the sun warming his feathers and his whole body alive with the joy of it. He threw his head back, his eyes falling closed, but for the first time in weeks felt no fear -- against the darkness there was a golden light, streaming from his and Ivie's and Havoc's bodies, strongest where they touched. He could feel the darkness retreating before it, the cold and pain and fear pushed back as light flooded the room. For an instant, he thought he could hear a thin, distant screaming; then the last trace of Catrina's grip on him snapped, the barbed-wire bindings on his wings giving way, and he fell back onto the bed, gasping, flung his arms around Ivie and Havoc and pulled them down, too, to lie against his chest.

All of them stayed still for a long moment, catching their breath. It was Ivelisse who stirred first, pushing herself up on one elbow and cupping Angelico's cheek with her free hand. "Baby," she said, soft but urgent. "Talk to me, baby, how do you feel?"

"Great." He reached for her again, tried to pull her back down into his arms. "Fantastic. Fucking _perfect_ \-- I'm with you, god, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" He shifted his attention to Havoc, who'd rolled off him, too, and was cautiously poking and prodding at his arm. "Both of you -- fuck, you're warriors and you're incredible and I just -- I love you so fucking much." He finally succeeded in pulling Ivelisse back down against his chest, buried his face in her hair. "My badass humans. The next time we defend the titles--"

Havoc made a soft noise in his throat and ran his hand down Angelico's chest. "About the titles..."

"It doesn't matter," Ivie said, a little too sharply. "They're not important. You are."

Angelico shook his head. "We'll get them back," he said, aware he was rambling but too warm and happy to stop himself. "Whatever it takes. I'll be there for you this time, I won't disappoint you again, I won't let you down--"

"As if you ever could." Havoc tangled a hand in his hair, shut him up sweetly with a kiss. "And we'll be there for you. We're a team."

"More than a team," Ivie said, snuggling in closer against his chest. "Now be quiet and rest. You need it."

Havoc ran a hand down her arm, raising one last golden spark from her skin and making her shiver. "We all do," he said, soft and low, and shifted to sling his arm across both their bodies, warm and secure.


End file.
